Wednesday, October 19, 2005

Fields of The Tawny Days...

Flowing like gold across the field,
Lost in an endless sea of breeze and waving amber,
Life floats upon the sky that seems boundless,
To walk here is to be healed,
To live here is to understand the cycle of life with intricacy,
A season and a season's passing,
Promises of renewal too priceless to forget,
In this vast place called the Heartland,
Here the Mother whispers in her childrens' ears,
Awaiting the embrace both so desperately need.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 10/19/2005